A Blood Rose Dress
by jazzmonkey
Summary: The color of love, of the heart. The color of passion, of fire. The color of roses, the color of her hair. Her favorite color. His favorite color. it was almost a shame that it didn't last. Then again, humans were temporary. He just loved to see them shed their red.


**I don't own Black Butler. Sorry...**

**A Blood Rose Dress**

The man sat idly in his chair, waiting for his next assignment. The bruises on his face pronounced that he had been beaten over at least twice, if not more. His red hair flourished underneath the dim lighting of the room, and the silence struck him like an arrow.

He silently fingered the rose that rested between the tips of his glove, and peered at it over his rimmed glasses. The last three, four months or so had been so utterly adventurous that he found himself dulled by the boring repetition he found himself in. Every second that he spent here was another second that should have been spent hunting down his lover. He enjoyed keeping tabs on the demon as much as he did the color red.

**The color red…**

Grell Sutcliff was never one to look at the past. It was just that, only a memory of the work he had done and what he still had left. He lived for his job, nothing more, nothing less. All other things were just an added bonus for a job well done.

The reaper waited for another moment before getting up. He stretched. It wasn't as if there was anything to do at the current moment anyway. He might as well see what had become of his former "mistress".

Waiting patiently, he crept out, avoiding his boss to the best of his ability and leaving to enter the human world. Without his scythe, it wasn't quite an adventure, but he would have to make do with the little he had.

**Heartless red…**

The chimes were the first thing that hit him. They were low and distant, as if playing background music to a dancer that would never again lift her feet. He edged his way to the back of the church. He had spotted the clever man he would have liked to make his own, but avoided him. This was not a social visit, it was simply the final call before the curtain fell down for the last time.

He waited until the church was empty. People were crying bitter tears that he found himself enjoying, just as he always did. Nothing new. Black and crystalline white always went together well.

The chapel was large, a breathtaking sight had he cared to stay long enough to soak it all in and bask in its glow. However, this was a dangerous place for him to be in at all. It did not matter. He was bored, and this was a clever way to tend to that very boredom.

He looked over the edge of the casket. White flowers, white dress, silver cross. Nothing stood out but the shocking red silk that was gently placed around her head. Soft and smooth, it lay atop her head, like gentle wisps of petals.

A dress was placed next to her, thrown both carelessly and elegantly, like it belonged there. Grell moved it so it rested on her perfectly. He moved her hands so they were over the second layer.

Perfect.

**Crimson red…**

It was utterly devastating, the color against her pale cheeks. He almost regretted taking her short life as he saw how wonderful red looked on her. It was a gorgeous color, almost entrancing as he watched the lack of movement.

She was suited to the color. It fit her as it could no other. Grell had enjoyed his time with her, regardless of her nagging and humane ways. Saving people. What a ridiculous idea. He had actually liked the time spent with her, though he would never be allowed to admit such a thing.

The woman in the casket before him had been one of flamboyancy and charm. She entranced every eye that was laid upon her, naturally drawing a crowd. Yet, it was that flamboyancy that killed her in the end, when she adamantly refused to kill her nephew. A stupid decision. She could have lived.

He lay the rose down on her chest. It blended in with the red dress. No matter. One could never have too much of the color. She was still, a peaceful expression in her features, as if she were asleep, simply waiting for the kiss from "that man".

Maybe she had wanted death the entire time.

Grell smiled. He was not to have feelings, but if he did, he would have ones of bitter amusement when faced with Angelina. She had been an interesting woman. She had been a brutal woman.

**Madame Red…**

She had been a woman who got her wish in the end.

**Hay, Jazz is my name. New to this fanfictiondom. Been loving the series for years, but just got the courage to write. I was recently rereading the Jack the Ripper arc, and it drove me nuts that Madame Red got killed. I really liked her...and I think that Grell did as well.**


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